Named after the three cities I live in, this blog will focus on Israeli, Palestinian, and Turkish politics and social issues. In addition, I will periodically cover other topics related to the Middle East.

Last week, following the death of Ahmet Atakan, a protester
in the Turkish southern province of Hatay, people took to the streets in
different cities in Turkey including Istanbul.
For the first time since the Gezi protests, the Turkish police crossed
the Bosphorus and decided to take on protesters in Kadikoy; a known secular neighborhood, with a history of leftists protests
taking place. While the government often tries to characterize the protesters
as provocateurs, it should be stated that the Turkish police’s violent
clampdown on this neighborhood was blatant provocation; until now, Kadikoy’s
protests had been left alone, and its residents often frequented the protests
in Taksim. Indeed, the intensity of the police actions on the new turf can only
be interpreted as a “payback” for their enduring support of the GeziPark
protests.

During last week, on any given afternoon, my computer was
receiving live feeds from Kadikoy, and I was tweeting the information to the best
of my knowledge. It sparked memories of the Gezi protests when my neighborhood
was one of the centers of clashes between protesters and the police; in fact,
the morning after the police finally took Gezi Park back from the protesters, I
returned home from a trip to a TOMA (water cannon) and teargas on my street; it
looked and felt like a warzone and I worried greatly for all the parents with
children stuck there, and the elderly who occupy a great part of the
neighborhood.

On the side streets of Kadikoy
(contact for accreditation)

Now that I am back in New
York, I was able to distance myself somewhat from the
events in Kadikoy. This was important
since it gave me the chance to ponder on the question why the Gezi Protests
occupied most of my summer; indeed, the protests were like a massive wave
crashing down on me. Day-in-and-day-out I was living Gezi.

The most obvious reason I was so fixated on Gezi is the fact
that Istanbul has been my home for over a decade; almost a quarter-of-my-life. Even if I have been commuting back and forth
from New York, and at times from Israel (making it a lot easier in terms of
distance), my four-walls in Istanbul are my home. They include memories of my
child’s first years (her first shoes), a collection of pointless memorabilia
(magnets from cities of the world), and artifacts from the past (the long
forgotten photo albums). Indeed, this is a personal side that few know about,
save for close friends, and of course my neighbors, who see me come and go
every few months, as I lug my suitcases up-and-down the 5-floor walk-up. They
have long become use to me, and me to them.

Not like past years however, Gezi happened just as I had
been over a year in Istanbul, making only two
brief trips to Israel.
For someone who has spent his life in a constant nomadic state this truly was
one of my most relaxed periods of my life; a year filled with plenty of love
and happiness; and, the Gezi protests broke this calm and serenity.

By chance just before all hell broke loose during the
evening of May 31, I found myself on Istiklal, Taksim’s main pedestrian avenue,
trying to find a route home and every side street I went down seemed to be
drenched with teargas. I know the streets of Istanbul even better than the ones
in Tel Aviv, a city I adore, and much better than the ones in New York, a place
where I randomly ended up due to employment; a love for the streets is not
bound by law and belonging is not based one’s passport or by a resident permit.
The same streets I saw under massive clouds of teargas are the very these same
streets where I pushed my daughter’s stroller, and where I taught her to ride a
bicycle. It is in also these streets I forged love and said farewell to other
loves. It is in these streets I regularly take a stroll on semi-serene Sunday
evenings. These streets are mine, and I share them with all who walk them.

A surprise to me was that where I encountered the violence
up close was actually at my favorite bar in Taksim; perhaps not a second-home
but a regular hangout for me. During the protests, it served at times as a
makeshift hospital; on weekends, as teargas poured in, so did the injured-a
woman injured by a plastic bullet on her back, an activist beaten
black-and-blue by police, and a leg injury due to a teargas canister. And, once
everyone was in safely the barman quickly brought the shutters down, turned out
lights fearing a police raid that could lead to arrests. Twice I met tourists who took cover there,
and once I led an Egyptian mother and her panicking daughter from the bar once
the gas settled and across police lines in the midst of battles taking place on
Istiklal. For me, this side showed me that when push came to shove the
protesters were left powerless, left with wounds, fear, and anger, but
nevertheless defiant.

For me, the politics of Turkey have very little to do with
my stance on Gezi; it is much more about a personal conviction that every
person has the right to express dissent unhindered; it is about freedom of
expression, it is about defending the innocent people who were injured, it is
about helping the elderly who fell down due to teargas, it is about standing up
against excessive force used by police, it is so that the death of the
protesters will not be in vain. Even if I am not a citizen of Turkey, Gezi
showed me that I have invested way too much in the country to remain indifferent.

The message of the Istanbul protesters for Prime Minister Erdogan is that even if the Turkish government has one of the biggest stockpiles of teargas in the world, it cannot be used to silence those who oppose him.

*This article appeared originally in Haaretz on June 2, 2013; I am placing the entire text here since due to the paywall sometimes the link is blocked.

ISTANBUL - For the last two days, Istanbul’s main center, Taksim, and its surrounding areas, have been under siege due to a massive peaceful protest. Thousands of canisters of tear gas have been fired at hundreds of thousands of peaceful protesters throughout the city, together with water-cannons spraying tainted water that burns the skin, all while the protesters screamed in unison, "Erdogan Resign!" While protests, and other forms of dissent, have been met with force in the past, there is no doubt that during the last year there has been a proliferation of the use of teargas, especially following the election of Turkey’s Prime Minister, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, for his third term, two years ago.

While the current protest originally was sparked over an urban renewal project, which included destroying the Taksim’s main park, the only green area in the immediate vicinity, and reconstructing to its former glory an Ottoman armory that once stood there on the park's ruins, the truth must be told that the current protest was much more profound than the campaign to save the seventy-five year-old trees of the park.

When the conservative Justice and Development Party (AKP) first came to power in 2002, under the sole leadership of Erdogan, many hashed out exaggerated claims that his party was secretly promoting a radical Islamic agenda; however, the majority of Turkish people never believed this. Not to mention that many Turkish liberals embraced Erdogan as an agent of change, as the one that could challenge the secular military elite, as the one that could bring new freedoms to Turkey. In fact, during the first few years, Erdogan ushered in not only the building of a strong economy, but also a period where civil organizations multiplied, with a genuine sense of change in the air.

Despite the bad record Turkey has had with jailing reporters, long detentions and trials for military officers arrested on suspicion of masterminding a coup d’état, and numerous students detained for years in prison for protesting, many liberals still placed hopes that Erdogan could shape a semi-liberal constitution for Turkey despite his very conservative views; something that in 2010 led Erdogan to a solid 58 percent victory in the referendum over Turkey’s new constitution (still in the works). Just a year later, in the 2011 parliamentary elections, he came very close to securing fifty-percent of the total Turkish electorate.

It was in the 2011 elections campaign that Erdogan clarified his goal of changing the law in order to allow him to transfer new powers to the presidency, and then run for president himself, allowing him to continue to rule in one way or another until at least 2023, the 100th year anniversary of the Republic. In fact, his ambitions are not confined to the issue of state positions; during the last two years, it has become evident that Erdogan is only interested in a one-man show, with him in the center. And having centralized so much power he has made his aims clear: To transform younger Turks into a 'moral' generation, while transforming Turkey into a major regional and world economic powerhouse.

From implementing policies encouraging women to have three children, to his goal to raise a 'moral' generation of youth that will sign up to his interpretation of what a good Muslim is, more and more Turks have become tired of a Prime Minister who promotes policies that interfere with their daily lives. Just before the protest began new laws were enacted aimed at curbing alcohol consumption in the public sphere. It should be clear it is not that so many Turks would be affected by the laws; even if drinking Raki (and beer to some extent) is considered by many as a Turkish pastime, actually a low percentage of them actually drink on a regular basis. Rather, it was in the very condescending way Erdogan related his disdain for those who do drink, inferring that they were all drunks.

Parallel to this, Erdogan’s personal dictation of the policies of urban renewal and of massive infrastructure projects have taken their toll on the Turkish population. It seems that no power is strong enough to stop a project that the Prime Minister supports; whether it is the third Bosphorus bridge, the new mega-airport, or the numerous dams that are flooding cities throughout the Anatolian heartland. In fact, it was due to this very reason that the Erdogan’s obsession to replicate an Ottoman armory, even stressing his wish that it be used as a shopping mall, irked so many, regardless of political affiliation or social background. As high rises replace shanty towns, and shopping malls blossom at the speed of flowers in the spring, the 606 trees at Taksim Park turned into a real issue for many.

Today’s massive protest in that sense were not a revolution; they were not set on overthrowing the government; the protestors' aim was to have their voices heard and to demonstrate that even if Turkey is a democracy according to the books, that a democratic system should ensure rights for all, as well as fostering a climate of debate. This point cannot be understated especially when it comes to the Turkish youth that - to a great extent - does not see eye-to-eye with the government’s conservative outlook. For so many people in their early twenties, the only Prime Minster they have ever known is Erdogan, and they long for a new reality where they can take part, contribute to their society, and not be considered hooligans for simply enjoying a beer. In fact, in the park protest, Turkey showed to what extent its youth want to be a part of making their home a better place.

Lastly, with the protesters now in Taksim Square, once the police barricades were lifted, it has shown Prime Minister Erdogan, and all of his government ministers, that even if they have one of the biggest stockpiles of teargas in the world, it cannot be used to silence those who oppose them. The protests are a strong message to Erdogan that a significant part of his society is frustrated with his arrogance, and perhaps gives him a signal that his wish to become President might not be that easy a feat at all.

Louis Fishman is an assistant professor at Brooklyn College, City University of New York. Ths year he is in Istanbul working on his upcoming book on late Ottoman Palestine, and teaching Middle East history and politics courses at Okan and Sabanci Universities. He has lived most of his life divided between the U.S., Israel, and Turkey. Follow him @IstanbulTelaviv or on his blog: http://louisfishman.blogspot.com